


Good God, let me give you my life!

by imaginemotherofdragons



Series: ACOTAR prompts [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Tumblr Prompt, feysand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 15:31:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19908022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginemotherofdragons/pseuds/imaginemotherofdragons
Summary: an acotar college au to fulfill a prompt? it's more likely then u think!Biggest of thank you's to @strawberry-mads-art and @highqueenofelfhame for reading this over and just generally being the best!And to you for reading and hopefully leaving kudos?





	Good God, let me give you my life!

**Author's Note:**

> an acotar college au to fulfill a prompt? it's more likely then u think!
> 
> Biggest of thank you's to @strawberry-mads-art and @highqueenofelfhame for reading this over and just generally being the best!
> 
> And to you for reading and hopefully leaving kudos?

Feyre stood up, setting the ridiculously expensive textbook down gently on the living room table. The knocking on her door wasn’t unexpected. Her roommate was prone to forgetting her phone or keys or wallet. Honestly, Feyre loved Mor but this was the _third_ time in the last week and she needed to study.

She opened the door and, instead of the mountain of blonde hair and sheepish smile she had been anticipating, a much taller and darker shadow stood in front of her.

Rhysand. 

Mor’s cousin and Feyre’s persistent admirer. Although in this situation annoyance and admirer were quite synonymous. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. Rhysand peered down with a pleased grin, his deep blue eyes sparkling, flecked so heavily with violet it was damn near entrancing.

Feyre would not be entranced. “Mor isn’t here. She and Emerie went out for the night.”

He frowned, “I knew that.” He clearly did not know that. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, but he couldn’t have been that drunk. He was still annoyingly self-possessed. Maybe even intoxication was unable to take that away from him.

“Then why in the hell are you here?”

“To see you, Feyre darling, of course.” He cocked his head like an overgrown puppy and slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. 

“And why’s that _Rhysand?”_

When Feyre said Rhysand’s name it always sounded like she meant to say something else. Something like abomination. 

He clicked his tongue at her in annoyance. Whether it was at the use of his full name or the insolence in her tone was entirely up to her imagination. “I was hoping to ask you a question.” 

“Have I answered this question before?” Feyre sighed softly and leaned against the doorframe, effectively blocking the apartment from his view — he may be Mor’s cousin but she didn’t have to invite him in. 

That insufferable smirk played on his mouth, curving the full lines of his lips. _They do look rather soft,_ she thought absently and immediately chastened herself for it. It was just an errant thought, product of an overworked, sleep and sex deprived mind. 

“Not recently.” 

She scoffed. Feyre had turned Rhys down damn near a dozen times. The well-curated excuses she used on other people didn’t work with him either. She always started out that way, but eventually he wore her down and Feyre left in a huff with a shouted “Prick!” in his general direction. 

It’d been over three months since she had left Tamlin, and the idea of dating anyone else still made a wave of nausea stir in her stomach. Still made her fists clench, still kept her up at night. What if he found out? Logically, she knew that the chances of something happening were slight, but it was one thing to know that and quite another to try and explain it to the constant anxiety that plagued her. 

So she decided against relationships for the time being, at least until she could sort out this chaotic mess that her mental state had become. It didn’t help that, with the exception of Nesta, none of her family had expressed much concern over the circumstances surrounding Feyre and Tamlin’s seemingly untimely split. She hadn’t really expected any but the insinuations they’d made were surprisingly gutting.

_"Was this the first time it happened?”_

_“Did anyone else see it?”_

_“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic sweetheart_?” 

She hated that word. Dramatic. She was just being dramatic. Tamlin was right and it was normal to feel this way, all these things were just average couple problems. God, she was so damn _dramatic._

Fortunately, Rhysand’s mouth opened and pulled Feyre from her traitorous thoughts. 

“-don’t even have to go out. I’m fine staying in.” A lovely eye winked playfully in her direction, tacking on the unsaid “as long as it’s with you.” Again Feyre was filled with a grudging amusement at his ridiculously cheesy attempts. 

She’d asked Mor once why in the hell Rhys was so persistent, but the other woman had simply chuckled and said something about him finally finding someone that could match his stubborn-ness. She’d also told Feyre that if she truly wanted Rhys to back off, she’d make sure he did. Somehow Feyre knew that if she took Mor up on that offer, he would listen. He’d stop his flirting, quit inviting her to whatever party he was throwing, no longer swing by the apartment on lazy Sundays.

If she really wanted him to stop Rhys would respect that. 

And it scared her.

Because deep down, despite her statements to the contrary, Feyre didn’t want him to leave. She'd begun to look forward to his random visits, his witty banter, that wicked tilt to his lip when he laughed.

And the smug bastard knew it.

“I’m busy.”

“With what? Doesn’t matter, I’m sure I can help.”

“Organic chemistry.” She didn’t know what she wanted him to say to that. Maybe he’d just leave. _Maybe he’ll stay._

“Perfect! So what are we doing? Naming benzene derivatives?” 

She let out a startled laugh and Rhysand beamed.

“How much have you had to drink?” Feyre demanded drily, but made no move to stop him as he slipped past her and sprawled out on the couch. 

Pressing a hand to his heart, Rhys leveled a look of mock hurt at her, “You wound me. I am perfectly capable of doing _this_ ,” A gesture toward the books in front of him, “in any state. No offense love, but it is rather easy.”

Feyre raised a brow and wondered how he’d feel about that statement a few paragraphs in.

⁂

An hour and a half later, Rhysand and Feyre were burned out. While Rhys was surprisingly helpful he was also exceedingly dramatic, which led to arguments which took up the majority of their time.

“I’m just saying that we could do this at a restaurant, or even a coffee shop, and it would be the exact same.” 

“No because then it would be a date.” 

“I need,” He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I need a lot more alcohol in order to keep up with your logic.”

“The door’s right over there.” Feyre said, brandishing her pencil at the object in question, startling herself with the stab of disappointment she felt.

“Do you honestly think I’d just abandon you? No, I’m sure Mor has something suitable around here.”

Hiding the pleased smile his words threatened to bring out, she watched him stand, observing the elegant line of his arm, the broad planes of his chest, easily distinguishable through the form fitting black t-shirt he wore. She hurriedly glanced down at her phone before he could catch her so blatantly gawking. 

Minutes later he reappeared holding a can of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, the peach kind that Feyre had once vomited up all over the rug. She watched as he opened it and sniffed at the resulting bubbles, before cautiously sipping. And then he began gagging violently. 

“What in the hell is that?” He gasped, holding the offending drink at arms length as he scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. Feyre cackled, head tipped back, arms crossed over her stomach, shoulders shaking with the force of it. A real laugh, unrestrained and genuine. 

Forcing herself to take a deep breath and calm down, she found Rhys watching her with a soft, contemplative look, completely at odds with his usual demeanor.

It made something inside her twist.

“No more distractions, I have to get this done.” She ordered sternly, shoving that _feeling_ very deep down, disregarding the way it clawed and snarled as she did. 

“I’m sorry my being poisoned distracted you.” He sniped, that tender look gone as quickly as it came. Feyre wondered if she would ever get to see it again, like that, directed at her. 

She made a noncommittal noise and went back to ignoring him. Or at the very least attempting to. Rhys began humming under his breath as he scanned over her notes, a powerful tune that became even more apparent as he started mouthing the lyrics. 

“Why is it only a date if it’s out in public?” He asked, not willing to let the subject drop. “I think most people would consider this right here a date, albeit with a lot more arguing then preferable.”

Feyre didn’t have a good answer to that, Rhys was right, although she’d never admit it. But this wasn’t really a date, this was something nice and simple and most importantly _easy_. None of those were words she would use to describe any of her previous trysts.

Again Feyre didn’t deign to respond, simply settled back against the cushion and let her eyes rove over the page. She wasn’t really reading the words, more enjoying the sight of him from the corner of her gaze, but he didn’t need to know that.

If he was bothered by her silence he didn’t show it. Instead he continued his song, this time quietly singing instead of humming.

The familiar words drifted around her as they worked. Rhysand nudged her gently with his shoulder as he sang, much louder and more lively then the original required:

**“Good God, let me give you my life!”**

Feyre shoved against his side with a long suffering groan, “Are you trying to serenade me with Hozier?”

“Is it working?”

The “No” she’d prepared sizzled out as she noticed how close they now were. Face to face, only inches apart, that _soft soft_ mouth so damn close to hers. Feyre didn’t lean in but neither did she force herself away. The tip of her tongue flicked out and over her bottom lip, the movement tracked keenly by Rhys’ eyes. His face filled with resolution as he closed the rapidly dwindling space between them. 

Noses brushing, near enough to kiss.

And then he did kiss her.

At first it was just a gentle caress, the barest minimum, until something snapped inside Feyre. Months of emptiness and stolen glances finally gave way to desperation. Her hands snagged roughly in his hair as his own cupped her jaw. Without thinking about it, Feyre slung a leg over his lap, straddling Rhys' thighs. 

Now it was an eager clash of tongue and teeth, her touch-starved fingers extracting themselves from his midnight curls only to run over his shoulders, down his chest. Rhysand braced a hand on her hip as the other stroked along her spine. She arched into the pressure eagerly and he groaned against her mouth.

With an astounding amount of self-control, that she herself most definitely did not possess at the moment, Rhys pulled back and pressed his lips chastely to the tip of her nose, lips, the underside of her jaw. Feyre was certain that there would be a time for her to panic and regret what had just happened but for now she felt almost...content. 

“I’ll take that as a yes then darling.”

“Prick.” She muttered. 

But all insult was taken out of the word as Feyre leaned in and kissed him again.

  
  
  



End file.
